The Nether Gate
by Rain4747
Summary: Follow the adventures of Bandis Forgefire of Fortress Forgefire and Fireband of the Judicator Encampment as they struggle to unravel the strands of a deadly, not-what-it-seems-to-be alliance. . . .
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I, the author, do not own Warcraft III. Warcraft III is the property of Blizzard Entertainment® (www.blizzard.com). What lies herein is geared to be a source of fictional entertainment and is entirely non- profit.  
  
Chapter I  
  
The Siege of Fortress Forgefire  
  
Beneath an opalescent sky, enclosed by a curtain of snow-capped pines, and nestled comfortably along the craggy slopes of Gargoyle Point, resided the Judicator Encampment, a troupe comprised of elite Night Elves. The encampment, Fireband thought, as he sat perched atop a cold rock, arms folded defiantly over his chest, seemed oddly suspicious. Though blind, the demon hunter could not ignore the unearthly presence emanating several leagues up the mountain slope, where the abominable buildings of the Undead protruded like the horrid spines of some gigantic sleeping dragon.  
  
He took a breath to steady himself, coiling his muscular legs up so that he sat atop his knees, and he fingered either of his fine war blades, their sharp blades still painful despite the numbness overtaking his body. His breaths came in slow, meditated bursts, and his ears, slender and of a lavender hue, like the rest of his body, poked out from beneath the slate- gray hair rolling over his chiseled face, twitching in time to the howling wind.  
  
Wherever you are, thought Fireband, I hope you are safe, my friend.  
  
* * *  
  
Plumes of thick smoke rose to the sky like the fingers of death itself, and the hissing and crackling of flames against collapsing infrastructures mingled with the dwarven cries of battle. Their rifles blared almost synchronously as they shot into the sea of Undead monsters spilling into Fortress Fireforge. Farmhouses had been emptied, their doors boarded up and their windows occupied by silver rifles, towers, though on fire and in danger of collapsing, continued to send ballistae arcing into the horizon.  
"Ye're not getting' away with what ye've done!" roared Bandis Forgefire, his pudgy face matted with his silvery hair, and his beard swung in line with his hammer and axe as he pounded either of his deadly weapons into the abdomen of a crypt fiend, squashing it like a sac of green goo and laying it below his feet before trampling ahead to meet another, swiftly bestowing upon it the same fate. His beady gray eyes burned with rage, reflecting in them the tall, lithe, slender form of the very lich responsible for the death of his comrade.  
Gruesome, of a deathly pale complexion, and featuring a skull riddled with icy orbs for eyes, the lich could be seen gliding about the battlefield, his wicked curled fingers expelling jets of freezing ice into a knot of dwarven riflemen, defiantly holding to the last as a swarm of ghouls, teeth flashing and claws raking, fell upon them.  
Bandis brought his hammer and the blade of his axe together over either flank of a crypt fiend's spidery face, mashing it into a fountain of goo before surging ahead. His thighs felt stiff and tense as he zoomed towards the lich, axe raised and hammer following his elbow back. "For Randis!" cried Bandis, and the veins of his arms bulged into view as he sent his hammer flying end-over-end in a blur of silver. The lich turned in time to see the weapon knock it in its skull, and the Undead general flipped over like a grade shadow, lost beneath a horde of trampling crypt fiends.  
Bandis flew into the blanket of fiends scurrying over the fallen lich, gripping his axe tightly with bond hands as he raked it hither and thither, slicing great gashes into the passing beasts, who did not have time to turn around as a murderous hail of rifle fire felled them in place. Bandis picked up his hammer and, certainly enough, their lay the lich, propped against one elbow, a huge dent in its frosty skull. It raised a curved finger at Bandis, and the dwarf felt a wave of unbridled cold wash over him. But he shook himself. He looked into the remorseless eyes of the lich, and he felt the fire in his own eyes grow. Straight through the jet of ice he ran, and the cold aura of the lich expired as his hammer and axe dived into its face, destroying it with a bone-cracking ring. He continued though, even as a stream of ghouls forked about it, pounding the lich's mangled body without relent, slobber flying from his mouth, where his teeth were clenched as tightly as his muscles as he drummed against the lich.  
"We've got ye, sir!" came the enthusiastic cry of a riflemen as he joined Bandis, accompanied by several other badly injured shooters. Their rifles rang sycophantically, stemming the flow of Undead denizens with a wall of powdery black, broken only by the gleaming silver swings of Bandis, who, with renewed fury, was cleaving aside whatever beast dared cross his path.  
The tide of the battle had begun to slowly turn for the beleaguered dwarves. The seemingly endless flow of Undead from before had died down to scattered, trickling forks of darkness, and the ring of swooping ballistae soon overpowered the howling abominations. Cries of elation filled the smoke-filled scene, and, their gleaming sets of armor dulled with soot and blood, the dwarves pushed forth, rifles blaring.  
"That'll teach 'em," growled Bandis, slamming his heavy boot into the skull of a downed ghoul. But, as he gazed to the horizon, a rim of crimson mostly blotted out by the tendrils of high-rising flames, he felt his heart deflate. A swarm of Undead monsters, numbered in the thousands, poured forth from the forest of tall mushrooms. "Back to the perimeter!" cried Bandis, swinging around and charging away, the blue cloaks of his rifle- bearing comrades beating in stride as they chased after him.  
A minute later, Bandis found himself with his shoulder squared against the inclined lip of a trench, the barrels of silver rifles flanking him on either side, and beady eyes brushed by thick strands of white hair greeted him on either side, smiles all around. He felt the ground beneath him tremble, and as he looked over the edge of the trench, he saw a wave of ghouls, claws flashing and limbs flaying madly, come pouring forth, but before he could even lift his hammer and axe, the audible sound of shooting had begun to issue from the rifles flanking him.  
  
To be continued . . . 


	2. The Siege of Fortress Forgefire

Disclaimer: I, the author, do not own Warcraft III. Warcraft III is the property of Blizzard Entertainment® (www.blizzard.com). What lies herein is geared to be a source of fictional entertainment and is entirely non- profit.  
  
Chapter I  
  
The Siege of Fortress Forgefire  
  
Beneath an opalescent sky, enclosed by a curtain of snow-capped pines, and nestled comfortably along the craggy slopes of Gargoyle Point, resided the Judicator Encampment, a troupe comprised of elite Night Elves. The encampment, Fireband thought, as he sat perched atop a cold rock, arms folded defiantly over his chest, seemed oddly suspicious. Though blind, the demon hunter could not ignore the unearthly presence emanating several leagues up the mountain slope, where the abominable buildings of the Undead protruded like the horrid spines of some gigantic sleeping dragon.  
  
He took a breath to steady himself, coiling his muscular legs up so that he sat atop his knees, and he fingered either of his fine war blades, their sharp blades still painful despite the numbness overtaking his body. His breaths came in slow, meditated bursts, and his ears, slender and of a lavender hue, like the rest of his body, poked out from beneath the slate- gray hair rolling over his chiseled face, twitching in time to the howling wind.  
  
Wherever you are, thought Fireband, I hope you are safe, my friend.  
  
* * *  
  
Plumes of thick smoke rose to the sky like the fingers of death itself, and the hissing and crackling of flames against collapsing infrastructures mingled with the dwarven cries of battle. Their rifles blared almost synchronously as they shot into the sea of Undead monsters spilling into Fortress Fireforge. Farmhouses had been emptied, their doors boarded up and their windows occupied by silver rifles, towers, though on fire and in danger of collapsing, continued to send ballistae arcing into the horizon.  
"Ye're not getting' away with what ye've done!" roared Bandis Forgefire, his pudgy face matted with his silvery hair, and his beard swung in line with his hammer and axe as he pounded either of his deadly weapons into the abdomen of a crypt fiend, squashing it like a sac of green goo and laying it below his feet before trampling ahead to meet another, swiftly bestowing upon it the same fate. His beady gray eyes burned with rage, reflecting in them the tall, lithe, slender form of the very lich responsible for the death of his comrade.  
Gruesome, of a deathly pale complexion, and featuring a skull riddled with icy orbs for eyes, the lich could be seen gliding about the battlefield, his wicked curled fingers expelling jets of freezing ice into a knot of dwarven riflemen, defiantly holding to the last as a swarm of ghouls, teeth flashing and claws raking, fell upon them.  
Bandis brought his hammer and the blade of his axe together over either flank of a crypt fiend's spidery face, mashing it into a fountain of goo before surging ahead. His thighs felt stiff and tense as he zoomed towards the lich, axe raised and hammer following his elbow back. "For Randis!" cried Bandis, and the veins of his arms bulged into view as he sent his hammer flying end-over-end in a blur of silver. The lich turned in time to see the weapon knock it in its skull, and the Undead general flipped over like a grade shadow, lost beneath a horde of trampling crypt fiends.  
Bandis flew into the blanket of fiends scurrying over the fallen lich, gripping his axe tightly with bond hands as he raked it hither and thither, slicing great gashes into the passing beasts, who did not have time to turn around as a murderous hail of rifle fire felled them in place. Bandis picked up his hammer and, certainly enough, their lay the lich, propped against one elbow, a huge dent in its frosty skull. It raised a curved finger at Bandis, and the dwarf felt a wave of unbridled cold wash over him. But he shook himself. He looked into the remorseless eyes of the lich, and he felt the fire in his own eyes grow. Straight through the jet of ice he ran, and the cold aura of the lich expired as his hammer and axe dived into its face, destroying it with a bone-cracking ring. He continued though, even as a stream of ghouls forked about it, pounding the lich's mangled body without relent, slobber flying from his mouth, where his teeth were clenched as tightly as his muscles as he drummed against the lich.  
"We've got ye, sir!" came the enthusiastic cry of a riflemen as he joined Bandis, accompanied by several other badly injured shooters. Their rifles rang sycophantically, stemming the flow of Undead denizens with a wall of powdery black, broken only by the gleaming silver swings of Bandis, who, with renewed fury, was cleaving aside whatever beast dared cross his path.  
The tide of the battle had begun to slowly turn for the beleaguered dwarves. The seemingly endless flow of Undead from before had died down to scattered, trickling forks of darkness, and the ring of swooping ballistae soon overpowered the howling abominations. Cries of elation filled the smoke-filled scene, and, their gleaming sets of armor dulled with soot and blood, the dwarves pushed forth, rifles blaring.  
"That'll teach 'em," growled Bandis, slamming his heavy boot into the skull of a downed ghoul. But, as he gazed to the horizon, a rim of crimson mostly blotted out by the tendrils of high-rising flames, he felt his heart deflate. A swarm of Undead monsters, numbered in the thousands, poured forth from the forest of tall mushrooms. "Back to the perimeter!" cried Bandis, swinging around and charging away, the blue cloaks of his rifle- bearing comrades beating in stride as they chased after him.  
A minute later, Bandis found himself with his shoulder squared against the inclined lip of a trench, the barrels of silver rifles flanking him on either side, and beady eyes brushed by thick strands of white hair greeted him on either side, smiles all around. He felt the ground beneath him tremble, and as he looked over the edge of the trench, he saw a wave of ghouls, claws flashing and limbs flaying madly, come pouring forth, but before he could even lift his hammer and axe, the audible sound of shooting had begun to issue from the rifles flanking him.  
  
To be continued . . . 


End file.
